Bretonia Police Authority Need You!

[Aztech]

James stumbled into the recruitment office and after convincing security forcefully, maybe too forcefully, that he was there to join, found one of the forms. Sitting down on someone's abandoned chair he pretended to read all the small print despite not being able to concentrate on it in his intoxicated state.
"Well the bastards want my soul... lets give em what they want." he muttered to himself audibly enough that people glared. James casually pulled the finger, took a swig of the whiskey and started filling in the form with a pen from the desk in front of him.

Name: James Lynch
Background: I was born on Leeds. I belong to a large extended family that is quite respected in the Irish community. I lived with my mother, father and brother. Father died when I was 17 so I worked for a while as a bouncer at a nightclub to support the family and for the free booze. When I turned 19 I left home to work at a mercenary firm for a time. Stayed on for a while until the agency collapsed and now I find myself out of work and drinking money. I know you BPA need help, so here I am.
Junior constables may not mount lethal weaponry until they patrol 3 times with a senior officer.
Ambitions: To shoot up some bastards, to smash some unlawful heads and earn drinking money while doing so.
Pet: A Border Collie if I could. Unfortunately most tenants do not like large pets.
Skype: GamerCatz

James finished by signing the form in his messy scrawl and considered pocketing the pen. It was a nice pen and he would probably receive one just like it working here. Just then the chairs owner arrived back from his tea break. James hastily excused himself as to avoid the glares from the owner. He stopped to mock salute security on the way out.

Sergeant Jason Sykes pored over the several paragraphs of poorly worded handwriting. Normally, applications like these were handled by junior secretaries in the HR department, but this particular form had thrown up a low-level red flag on the system, and for some reason had been diverted to his attention. The name scrawled on the top. James Lynch..... Sykes rolled his chair past his door, catching a sneaky glance at Chelsea as she walked past, and accessed the CCTV records for when the man had entered the room. His face caught the light of the screen as the low-quality recording sprang to life on his monitor.

6 years earlier...
Sykes looked out from his position on the hilltop above the battlefield. A figure had caught his eye in the midst of the fire and bodies that cluttered the small vale below him. Wild red hair seemed to be the defining feature of the man as he sprinted forward, rolled, brought down two men with a burst of phased plasma, and then somehow managed to survive drinking from a hip flask, standing up and performing a military style execution on the third defender, all at the same time. "The man's a lunatic.." Sykes murmured to himself, then took up his position behind his cannon alongside his sub-contracted mercenaries on the hilltop. His employer had hired the mercenaries just to man the portable cannons on the ridge, but this suited Sykes' men just fine. Sykes aimed again at the uniformed enemy and fired at a man atop the opposite ridge. The man jerked as a shell hit him in the left arm, but then dropped below Sykes sightline. Sykes swore as the steady, six-beats-per-second rythm of the guns next to him continued...

Present day...
Sykes visibly jerked as he recognised the bright red hair and heavy face of Lynch in the security footage. He relaxed slightly, but only for appearances sake. Inside, Sykes wanted to find the man and force the information he wanted out of him.. "What the hell is an ex-merc doing in the BPA?" Sykes forced himself to calm down. He was from the same background, anyway. He stamped the paper 'approved' then added "recommend caution" as a footnote.

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